Delirious Reality
by Gohanroxme
Summary: She is tired. Because how many times must she be bathing, only to look up and find her in the water with her? Walk into her division barracks, only to find her on the throne and watch as she slowly fades away? Roll over underneath the sheets, find her heat, and then feel as it dissipates? How much longer must she suffer?/ A premature reunion- YoruSoi, one-shot, R&R


Delirious Reality: Sui-Feng/Yoruichi- A premature reunion.

_A story full of dashes, lol_. Tab indents also inspired by _The Girl From the Well_, though I wonder if I did it correctly...

She can't say that she's surprised— that this is unexpected to her, that turning around a corner, she will come across this—

That woman, here, atop this building with her, gripping onto her wrist in her velvety— arti— artificial fingers.

"I . . ." A silken voice rings in her ears, nearly shuddering, and she swallows— _damn it, not this, not here, not now_— unable to tear her eyes away from the amber ones holding her captive. "I felt you . . . I've been feeling you, your presence this entire day, but I . . . couldn't believe it." Those dark fingers leave her wrist to tentatively glide up the entirety of arm, across her shoulder, along her neck only to caress her cheek in a palm,

electrified

hairs rising in its wake. There's a smile and her heart lurches at the familiarity, and her legs weaken at its tenderness, and she's so, so tired. "Suì-Fēng . . . ."

_ Don't. _Her lungs stutter as she struggles to take a step back_. Don't smile, don't say my name like that, like how _she_ usually does, because you're not real._

Mechanically, after a deep breath, she lifts an arm and pries the offending hand and all it's artificial heat from her face.

"It's you again," she mutters coldly, setting her jaw, but it's really all she can manage. Her heart, it rages beneath her ribcage and she's quivering in her haori. And it angers her because why is she always so weak before her own imagination? How does she always lose to her mind?

She _is_ tired. Because how many times must she be bathing, only to look up and find _her_ in the water with her? How many times must she be pressed gently against the bed, lips of velvet kissing her in places forbidden, only to find that it's her own fingers? Walk into her division barracks, to find _her_ on the throne and watch as she slowly fades away? Roll over underneath the sheets, find _her_ heat, and then feel as it dissipates? Hear _her_ utter

"I love you,"

the same time she disappears into nothingness, when really— _If you loved me, you wouldn't have left me!_

How much longer must she suffer?

She's in the world of the living now, world of unfamiliarity

(_toward_—),

world of no memories

(_of_—),

a world without anything to do with . . . _her, _and even still, she can't catch a break. Can't be left alone. Can't find a place where _she_ won't find her, or at least these unforgiving illusions of _her_.

The hand that she's removed from her cheek clutches onto hers, and the smile, it turns rather wry. "All you've got to say to me in half a century? Well, aren't you still of few words . . . ."

She merely stares —_her hand's so warm (don't be an idiot; all of these _hallucinations_ have her with warm hands_)— because usually, when she sees this woman, they normally pick up where they've left off, pick up on what they've been doing before —_like some relationship between a goddamn imaginary friend_— but here they are, starting all over.

It's different. Things are different, and now that she thinks about it, all of her previous aberrations have this woman a certain way, have her short-haired and especially gorgeous, with that jacket, in that uniform. But her hair is longer now, pony tail bound, and her clothes aren't familiar.

Yet, she looks especially more gorgeous.

But then she recalls, recalls that . . . _Unohana . . . Unohana advises I not engage her_ . . . . And she also recalls that she's been doing exactly that for the past few occurrences, because when she does this . . . there're no more mocking visions. _She'll_ vanish with that smile of

pure, unadulterated melancholy,

and she'll want to sob afterward, but at least she'll be _gone_ . . . .

So she drudges up some sanity and another breath.

"Yes," she cuts her eyes at the women before her because_ I don't need this, I don't need this__— __I deserve to be free of this_, "and I have even fewer words to say to you now— be gone."

Eyebrows crease. "I knew you'd be sore, but I thought that you'd at least be pleased to see me . . . ."

_ If you were real__— __if you were real and not my fucking mind teasing me, then . . ._

"Get out of my way."

She's being touched. She's being touched again, and the affection feels so

authentic,

the electricity so full of sensation.

"Suì-Fēng . . . ."

Her mouth goes dry because that woman is giving her that look _now_, that expression of

utter sorrow,

but _she's still here_.

And those hands, they're sweeping over her forehead . . . through her bangs, eyes of molten lava peering, peering, peering, peering at her, before coming to rest at her shoulders.

Her body feels icy hot.

_Stop being so damn weak when there's nobody even here!_

She's almost glad, glad that she's sent her men on ahead, because this is insane, she's so insane, crazy, crazy, crazy, and—

_Why did you have to mean so much to me? Why can't I stop thinking of you_?

Back of throat aching and knees trembling, she squeezes her eyes shut, and the second she does so, a warmth wraps around her, encases her, causing a pathetic pricking beneath her eyelids.

"Like I'd ever leave you again," is murmured genuinely into her ear, but the impact is like its shouted, loud enough to wrack her body, to somehow choke her until . . .

. . . she can feel herself falling apart.

She's all but leaning on that woman, her body rejecting her every order— _look_ at her, returning this embrace; she can't be hugging anything but air!— even as her head screams

_Disappear, disappear_,

but her heart cries

_Stay with me and please be real_ . . .

Fingers tread through her hair as her cheek rests against another, and it feels good, but it doesn't— it's terrible, it's unfair, it's _not_ happening.

It's cruel.

"You can't be here . . ." she whispers, appalled at the way her voice wavers, and she waits anxiously for this projection from her mind's eye to tell her, _"Of course I'm not, you mental idiot." _

But this does not happen. Instead, there's only something she remembers, a recognizable sensation— the application of lips to her neck as "I've missed you, you know . . ." is sighed into her pulse.

_I've missed you ._ . .

Her heart must've stopped. Because this— this confirms it all. _Don't_ . . .

Lips to her ear. "I've missed you so much, Suì-Fēng . . ."

_Stop_ . . .

Forehead to hers. "_So_ much . . ."

"_Stop_ saying that!" It's always like this; it never changes. Going on about regretting leaving, but never, ever with a valid excuse. These hallucinations . . . have probably uttered these same words to her hundreds of times, yet whenever there's a "_Why_?" they're unbearably silent. "You know, you're always _saying_ that— and if you were going to miss me . . ." Oh, no, oh fuck no, she knows what she's about to say, but for some reason, she can't stop herself, can't stop her heart, just like she can't stop her sudden tears, or that woman from holding her like this, and saying

sweet things

like this, and looking at her

_like this,_

"you should have brought me with you . . . ."

Golden orbs widen the slightest bit as she howls at herself at the top of her inner lungs, _Do _not_ let this _break_ you__— __I don't want to break again__— __especially when I'm all alone_, yet through her lips fall in the softest, most fragile of tones, "Why didn't you take me with you?"

Her fists clench around the fabric at that woman's shoulders (_she's so solid)_ and pull so that they're as close as physically possible, so that she stares challenging into pools of molten lava, despite that she can hardly stand, despite that everything's so dizzyingly blurry, "Why can't you get out of my head? Why do I keep seeing you everywhere when more than anything I want to _forget_ about you?"

She's being peered at, analyzed for a good seven seconds by a solemn expression before she hears, "Maybe it's because . . ." Lantern eyes shut slowly as a feathery kiss is pressed to her forehead, lips lingering, ". . . you're

lying

to yourself, Sui-Fēng. You and me both."

She hates that these are the last words she hears before her vision goes dim.

When she awakens, she's in a bedroom she's never seen before, lying in an actual bed, feeling weak beneath the sheets, but staring blearily up into bright amber.

It's almost frustrating, and she can only sigh resignedly with an underlying hopefulness, "You're . . . still here?"

Her inquiry is met with a soft smile. "Of course I'm still here . . . ."

There's a burning sensation in her eyes as she opens her mouth, yet she snaps it back closed instantly as a sob crawls up her throat. Swallowing it down, she tries again. "Y-You're . . ."

Dark fingers intertwine with her own. "You're real . . ."

A warm forehead against hers. "Aren't you . . ."

The last word escapes in a quavering rasp just before a tender kiss is bestowed upon her shaking lips,

"Yoruichi-sama . . . ."

"Yeah," is breathed gently onto her face, fluttering her eyelashes as she recalls this flavor, this texture, this feeling, "I'm real, Sui."

And then she cries, though she's confused; which is it— tears of bitterness, sorrow, or joy? She feels it all. She feels too much. She feels fingers in her hair as Yoruichi sits on the bed with her, guiding her head to her lap.

"Y-You'll," she croaks, raising an arm to clasp the front of her former mentor's clothes. "You'll stay, right?" She shuts her eyes for a moment, swallowing with difficulty, swallowing her pride, "Please . . . please tell me you'll stay . . . you don't even have to come back with me . . ." Her heart's so heavy. "Just, for right now, right here— I, you know, I— I want you here. _Stay_." _and don't disappear before my eyes . . ._

_ Please, don't do that to me again._

Yoruichi smiles and it's just how she remembers it— warm, compassionate, and consoling. "If I left, for what reason would that be? Right now, everything I've ever wanted

_is right here_."

A/N: The idea for this came from another fic, though I cannot remember the title or author. It was about soldiers from Sui's division getting assassinated with the assassin leaving her vile messages, and Sui-Feng being deluded into thinking that it was the traitorous Yoruichi. It wasn't her, but somebody working closely with her all along, and that's when I realized that I rather liked a delusional, obsessed, Sui-Feng.

Aside from that, though, my passion for this pairing is dwindling. After a few more fics, I think I think I'll be done.


End file.
